


By A Thread

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Bondage, Jealousy, M/M, Sexual Slavery, dub-con, non-con, under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin, captured and badly used by his captors, is waiting for Arthur to rescue him. A remix of Wangler's Red Silk from Merlin's POV. Please read hers first - this one won't make a lot of sense otherwise, I fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By A Thread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wangler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wangler/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [wangler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wangler/pseuds/wangler). Log in to view. 



Merlin's first thought, travelling through his head at the speed of treacle dripping from a spoon, is _Arthur will come for me_.

They've dosed him with something that plays with his reactions, with the way his thoughts follow on from each other, with his sense of time; as if the world is somewhere up and to the left of him rather than somewhere he lives and breathes, but despite it, he _does_ have control over his body and his mind if he tries hard to line them up.

His wrists hurt, a constant stimulus, more constant than the slow rattle of his breath or the odd pounding of his heart. His hand are cold, and after some time it occurs to him that that's because they're tied above his head.

Sometimes there are men - they lay their hands on him and they push their fingers and their penises into him (sometimes both, sometimes just the latter), and slap him. He lets them do what they want, because they'll do it anyway, and struggling is harder work. After the first one, Merlin remembers how to relax, anyway. The worst part is the twisting cloth around his wrists, sawing at his skin.

He feels as if he's made of lead, soft and heavy. He hangs by his hands, his heart too slow to pump the blood so high up. They will go blue sooner or later.

_Arthur will come for me_.

That's another reason not to struggle. The thought occurs to him as the fifth man (he counts, he keeps count, as his only way of marking time, although the visits of men can't possibly be regular like hour markers) shoves his way in. Arthur will need Merlin to be able to move when he gets here - it willl be easier to be rescued if he isn't beaten and hurt.

His magic wants him to let it out. It batters against his awareness, a weird, arcing thing between his loose, distant body and his slow mind, but he dares not free it. It might not listen to his shrieked instructions. It might not save the people who need saving. It might not save Merlin. It might just burn the place to the ground with everyone in it.

So Merlin holds it in like he holds himself in, dangling by a thread.

The seventh man has a knife which he holds to Merlin's throat, although Merlin doesn't know why - he's been dosed again and it's all he can do to remember that this man is the seventh - and that leads Merlin to have another thought, which is;

_Arthur shouldn't come. It's too dangerous_. A knife will pierce chainmail quite happily. Arthur will be wearing chainmail. He shouldn't come.

The blindfold and the restraints and the drugs mean Merlin is reduced to his hearing alone. Every man steps differently. Every man steps into the room, and stops, and pauses, and moves closer, and touches. Every man. Merlin remembers them.

Arthur steps into the room, and Merlin knows him, because of the echo of his footsteps.

'Hello?' he says. His tongue feels fuzzy.

Arthur doesn't answer. He stops.

Pauses.

Moves closer, and if Merlin were in doubt that it was Arthur, this would have stopped it up, because it _is_ Arthur, precise footfalls, all even, wary like he's circling a foe.

'Hello?' Merlin says again, fighting the honeyed hold the drug has on his abilities. Arthur just keeps walking around, around and around. Looking, he must be looking. Sometimes they look before they touch.

Two soft noises are Arthur's gloves hitting the ground - Merlin knows that noise as well as he knows Arthur's steps, because Arthur never puts things away if he can drop them for Merlin to pick up.

He's going to touch Merlin. The idea makes Merlin's skin roil when it filters through - _Arthur is going to touch me, the way the other men touched me_. But no, he isn't. It's Arthur. Arthur is here to save him.

'Let me down,' Merlin says, knowing Arthur will do it, trusting Arthur to do it. Merlin can't help himself, stretched as he is, hanging as he is by the thread of his wrists, just like Merlin couldn't have a say over what the other men did to him.

Chainmail against Merlin's skin - Arthur is going to catch him when his arms are let free.

But Arthur's fingers touch Merlin where Merlin's _body_ is expecting them, where all the touches have come before, part of that pattern. Merlin's mind, somewhere in the clouds, knows this isn't right. Arthur's breathing is angry.

_I waited for you. I made it easy for them so that I would be able to walk, I didn't fight so you wouldn't have to carry me, I waited for you, I knew you would come, please-_

Merlin knows how to stand apart so that the dry fingers will not rip him open, but he knows those fingers, just not with this feeling to back them up. He can't help but protest, whimper, which is unhelpful, he knows that, they don't like him to make noises, they push harder if he makes noises. He tries to explain, but his mouth is up against cold chainmail.

There's something that won't fit - Arthur's here, but there's a man, a man is doing things to Merlin he doesn't want. Arthur wouldn't stand for it. But Arthur ...

Arthur bites him. The drug that takes away the immediacy of sensation dulls that, but he knows the feeling of old, of Arthur's teeth in his skin.

They used to do this, and Merlin used to like it, and Arthur used to be happy.

Arthur's hand comes around, touches Merlin. The others never touched him here. Different. Merlin remembers the others by repetition, their routine, they all did the same, and this is not what they did. This is what _Arthur_ does. But there's no reaction - why would there be?

But it's Arthur.

Now Merlin tries to pull away, because this is all wrong. If this is Arthur (and it is Arthur), then why is Merlin tied? Why is there pain, why is there blindness? If this is another man in the series of men that come down here to Merlin, then why does he touch Merlin like Arthur would? But it _is_ Arthur.

'Let me down,' Merlin says, stumbles over the words. 'My hands, let me down, just let me down,' he begs, because the world is still too far out of his grasp but Arthur came for him, and it is dangerous, and Arthur shouldn't have, he has to get _away_.

Merlin's hands are so cold. So raw. Arthur steps away and leaves Merlin hanging there.

_Please, you need me, it's dangerous here, why are you leaving me tied? You can't go without me, you need me-_

Arthur moves away. Pauses, but Merlin can hear him breathing.

'Merlin!'

This time, Arthur does catch him, does cut him down, does touch him the right ways, but Merlin has a head full of patterns, still floating above himself where they're all clear and bright. He thinks, when everything connects back up again, when he's retched the drug out of his system and his mind settles back into his body, that maybe there'll be something else to this. But right now it's patterns, the little infinite repetitions that make up the world, and two of them have just snarled up.

Arthur is so soft with him, angry and hopeful and tender, like he doesn't know that Merlin knows that he was just another one of the men from Merlin's time here. Just another footstep, pause, touch. Just another push further up and out.

He slides the blindfold off Merlin's face, and Merlin has to blink in the sudden light. Arthur looks down into his eyes, searching for something. Merlin wants to give it to him, whatever it is, but all he has to offer is the truth. 'I just — just wanted you to let me down.'


End file.
